


Tracing the steps of a familiar Tune

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Omnics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genyatta*They keep holding hands as they walk, unable to be far from one another, and yet this distance is already too much, the need to be closer bubbling under the surface, heavy and thick in the air between them like electricity, like the anticipation building before a storm.





	Tracing the steps of a familiar Tune

**Author's Note:**

> just take the smut and forgive for title, it's half past 2am as i'm posting this...

**Tracing the steps of a familiar tune**

 

The walk to Genji’s rooms at the headquarters after their last mission is done in silence.

Genji’s footsteps are soft against the floor, barely audible, and at his side Zenyatta floats, hands resting on his knees.

Neither speaks, but Genji’s arm swings and brushes against Zenyatta’s knee, the barest contact between them, and Zenyatta answers by letting one hand fall down so that their fingers touch.

Such a gentle, tiny motion, and their attention gravitates to one another, sparkled up by the contact. Fingers intertwine together, and Genji squeezes Zenyatta’s hand in his own, his pace never faltering and yet never hurrying up.

This, just as everything between them, is a prelude to a familiar, welcoming dance.

They keep holding hands as they walk, unable to be far from one another, and yet this distance is already too much, the need to be closer bubbling under the surface, heavy and thick in the air between them like electricity, like the anticipation building before a storm.

The door of his room swings open with a soft sound, and Genji slows down, allowing Zenyatta to enter first. Quietly, Zenyatta passes the threshold and as he does so he lets himself fall from his meditative position and onto the ground. His legs extend in one smooth motion, his weight on them, and then he stands on his feet and turns around.

The door slides close behind Genji’s back as he enters the room, eyes only on Zenyatta. His expression is hidden behind his visor, but every inch of him _yearns_.

For a few seconds, he remains standing there, in awe, and they observe one another in silence. The room is dimly lit, but Genji’s eyes are used to the dark, and he notices every detail, every scratch on the smooth surface of Zenyatta’s facial plate, every sign of wear, every indentation. He loves every single one of them, more and more so every day, with such strength it takes his breath away.

Zenyatta is the first to shatter this moment of stillness, raising both arms and opening them wide, and Genji is only too happy to gravitate to him, two steps and the distance between them is erased and gone, gone forever, and then he is in Zenyatta’s embrace, where he belongs.

They fall together seamlessly, like they are meant to.

Taking their time, they explore one another, slowly, as if moving any faster will break this delicate balance. It is a well-known dance, practiced time and time again, and yet every time it feels like it’s the first, each touch tentative, each caress slow yet meaningful.

Genji’s hands move down the pistons of Zenyatta’s neck, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the smooth metal, each curve familiar to his touch. He slips his index through the pistons to caress the side of Zenyatta’s neck, where he knows he will find delicate, sensitive nodes, and is rewarded by a quiet, needy sound.

Zenyatta does not need to breathe, has no lungs to do so, and yet his breath hitches in a gasp, voice box conveying just how pleasant he finds Genji’s touch.

Genji smiles under his visor, and cups Zenyatta’s face with his other hand, warmth seeping through him as he watches Zenyatta lean into his touch, nuzzle his fingers, his forehead array on that side of his head flickering brighter for a moment in what appears like a wink.

Zenyatta maps the front of Genji’s body, plates of metal seamlessly covering what little of his human body remains, and Genji arches up against him, pleased and content with Zenyatta’s attention. He used to despise being touched, hated the association of himself with the body he’d needed to call his own after almost dying, but now things are different. This body is his own, and Zenyatta’s touch is grounding, it reminds him that he is loved, that the path he walked for over a decade brought him here, to a point where he is welcomed and wanted, accepted most of all by himself, and then by Zenyatta as well.

His love burns all the brighter for that.

With Zenyatta’s fingers rubbing the ridges of his armour, caressing where the metal is dented after careless battles, he loses himself a bit into the touch, in the joy it brings him to have Zenyatta there with him, in his arms.

Every touch is soft and gentle, Zenyatta’s fingers delicate in their exploring, but they leave fire in their wake, the kind that ignites and burns Genji from within. He knows where to touch to make him shiver, each contact making Genji’s body sing like a tune, and sing he does, soft exhales and softer gasps punctuating each touch.

It is only when Zenyatta hums and presses closer, one hand trailing up his neck to the latch of his visor, that Genji rouses from his trance to take his helmet off himself.

He feels breathless already, and he has yet to start, but with Zenyatta it’s always this way. Zenyatta himself makes him breathless, this familiarity and fondness between them where they both dance to the same rhythm, and giddy happiness grows inside him, wanting out, so he lets it come, laughter bubbling out past his lips, heady and thick with desire.

He wants, he wants everything –every touch, every stare, every tiny sound Zenyatta makes. _Everything_.

He pushes Zenyatta backwards and against the wall, and Zenyatta allows him this, laughing, happy, and his hands move to guide Genji’s hands, helping him drop the helmet where it can be retrieved, should he need his mouth piece to breathe better.

Genji inhales, exhales, and presses his forehead against Zenyatta’s shoulder, nuzzling it.

Oh, he loves it all. Wants it all. He craves with an intensity that was only previously reserved to his need for revenge, but this is sweeter, gentler, if just as strong.

With steady hands, he caresses a path down Zenyatta’s chest, to his core. He feels its vibrations under his hand, reassuring and calming, and he gives in to the need to put his ear there, to listen.

The sound of machinery he can hear from within Zenyatta’s chest used to be jarring, once –now he can barely sleep without it close by. Such is change, but this kind isn’t scary, or frightening. It reassures him that he is doing just fine, and he is not alone.

He takes this sound, makes it his own, and grows around it like tree roots in rich soil.

Again Zenyatta chuckles and Genji joins in, happy, liberated and so full of love he could explode.

He kisses the smooth curve of Zenyatta’s core, and though he knows Zenyatta has no sensors there to feel much other than pressure, he hears him gasp, more for the gesture than the feeling.

He kisses it again, moves up to latch his lips against the seam of Zenyatta’s mouth piece, feels around until he can push it slightly open, an approximation of a kiss, and then parts his lips and traces its contours, slowly.

It is satisfying to feel Zenyatta stiffen against him, as he always does when Genji messes with his mouth, but it is with unsteady hands that Zenyatta grabs his shoulders to tug him closer.

Zenyatta never opens his mouth. It was built to receive input, analyse and collect samples or fuel, and the sensors mapping the insides of that cavity are some of the most delicate and advanced he owns.

Kissing him is a sure way to make him moan, get sounds out of him that Genji dreams about when they are separated, and even when they are together side by side.

It took Genji a long while to find out, and even longer for Zenyatta to trust him with the knowledge, and for Genji to want to try –Zenyatta never used his mouth with that purpose, or much at all as he had no need to, but once he realised how sensitive it could become, Genji found himself addicted.

He is still the only one who is allowed such privilege, of course.

Genji pushes away for a moment, lips parting from the metal of Zenyatta’s face, and he feels a sparkle of satisfaction when Zenyatta follows the motion, head tilted towards him, and his voice box lets out a soft, needy moan.

“Genji…”

With a chuckle, Genji dives back in. Carefully, so not to overwhelm him, he presses his lips harder against the seams of his mouth, and Zenyatta opens up for him, the array on his forehead flickering on and off.

He slides his tongue past the seam, slowly, tests the soft silicon ring of the inner edge, then dips Zenyatta back a bit for better access, and dips in deeper. There is not much he can reach like this, a finger can do a better job, but he enjoys the rim of hard curves, the metallic nodes under his tongue, the mix of carbon and silicon covering the sensors. There is so much in there that could vaguely resemble a human mouth, except a tongue, but he does not feel the loss. He gets enough pleasure knowing he can get Zenyatta to beg just like this.

Zenyatta is already shaking, his shoulders jolting slightly every time he rubs the tip of his tongue against a node or stimulates a sensor; the amount of input he receives makes him almost dizzy, abandoned against the wall with his fans stuttering loudly.

Then he moves his arms, wanting to touch, needing it, and his hands slide down the curve of Genji’s back, fingers idly tracing every indent and every hard edge before moving even lower, cupping Genji’s ass.

Genji can’t help the amused chuckle, kisses Zenyatta deeper, and Zenyatta moans, loud and clear, and arches his back to press them flush together.

Genji hates being idle, and his hands have remained still long enough against Zenyatta’s sides, so he dips them lower, wriggling his fingers between them to slip inside Zenyatta’s pants.

Zenyatta answers with another gasp, pressed as he is between Genji and the wall, and parts his legs wider, accommodating Genji better.

Despite the obvious offer, Genji does not do much –he presses his palm flat against Zenyatta’s modesty panel until it slides away, and then he removes his hand, much to Zenyatta’s chagrin.

“Gen–ji…?”

Genji can’t answer, as he’s still kissing him, and soon Zenyatta has no mind to ask, panting and gasping under Genji’s relentless onslaught.

His tongue keeps pressing down against the nodes on the inner rim of Zenyatta’s mouth, and every time it slides deeper, languid and slow, Zenyatta shivers and pushes back into him.

He wants more, he trembles and gasps and his fingers are rubbing the underside of Genji’s ass in a way that makes Genji want them somewhere deeper, and the thought sends a painful throb through his own dick, still encased in his modesty panel.

He pushes his groin against Zenyatta, rubbing himself against him, and pauses his kissing, panting heavily against the side of Zenyatta’s mouth piece, watching the metal grow opaque due to his hot breaths. It’s intoxicating –the feeling of Zenyatta’s body against his own, his moans, Zenyatta’s fingers massaging his ass… all of it contributes and heightens his pleasure, and yet this is still not enough.

He wants more.

Genji groans, deep and wanton, and presses harder down against Zenyatta, rubbing their groins together. He can feel Zenyatta’s dick depressurize and grow bigger underneath the thin material of his pants, the only thing separating them, but he is in no hurry to move faster, or remove them.

Zenyatta’s hands are shaking as he brings them to cup Genji’s face, and for a moment they look at one another. Zenyatta’s visage might be unmoving, unchanging, yet Genji can read into every motion and shiver he sees, he can read Zenyatta’s aura like an open book, and he can read his emotions through his forehead array.

Every inch of Zenyatta is a constant show of emotion, and right now all he’s showing is desire and love, and Genji soaks in it, laughs happily, and dips down yet again to kiss him.

“I,” he murmurs between butterfly kisses “love,” more kisses “you”.

“Genji, you a–h… are impossible,” Zenyatta moans, voice box fractures in the middle, overwhelmed and burning, his fans attempting to decrease his core temperature to avoid meltdown.

He repeats Genji’s words, though, like a mantra, as Genji continues to kiss him. He repeats it twice, then again, and once more, voice becoming more and more garbled as Genji insistently kisses him and rubs against him.

The hard curve of his prosthetic cock is pleasant, but Genji’s modesty panel is still in the way, so with a flicker of his hand, he lets it slide open and out of the way. His own cock aligns itself out quickly, lubrication already coating its surface, and the coarse feeling of Zenyatta’s pants is a delicious pressure against it.

Zenyatta arches his back once more, pushing into him, and their cocks slide together, rubbing against Zenyatta’s pants.

“Genji… ple-ase,” the throaty quality of Zenyatta’s voice makes Genji shiver, pleasure sparkling down his back. “The bed is right over th–ere…”

“Later,” Genji dismisses the possibility, too busy in the here and now, and Zenyatta moans again, tugging him closer.

He moves again, traps Zenyatta against the wall, and Zenyatta lets himself be held captive, willing and happy to have Genji hold him close.

They slot together perfectly, metal against metal. Neither of them is soft, yet their bodies are made to be harmonious together, gentle curves and pleasing chromatic chassis. Genji’s hands slide down Zenyatta’s arms, seeking to intertwine their fingers together, and he tugs them apart, holding them tightly against the surface of the wall, caressing his knuckles with his thumbs, a mix of delicate and forceful.

Each gesture conveys his love, and there is so much more inside him that he fears Zenyatta will never _know_ it is there.

He loves, he loves so much and with such intensity that kissing him, holding him, is never enough. He craves more, so much more. He craves to lavish Zenyatta with attention, wants to listen to him moan and cry out in pleasure, but he also wants to hear him laugh. He wants to be the cause of it all, greedy and desperate.

“I love you,” he mouths, and Zenyatta’s laughter is like a balm to his soul.

“I… love you too,” is the heartfelt, warm reply, and the sincerity in Zenyatta’s tone is almost overwhelming.

They kiss again –gently, softly, Zenyatta passing small flickers of omnic energy to Genji’s lips as Genji maps the insides of his mouth. The short, flickering zaps only make Zenyatta’s mouth sensors more sensitive though, and soon he can’t keep himself quiet any longer, breathy moans constantly leaving his voice box.

“Ah… aah–” Genji chases each of them, drags more out, licks a tiny nodule with the flat of his tongue and nibbles the rim of Zenyatta’s mouth, and cherishes the way Zenyatta seizes up against him, legs open wide and inviting him to do more.

Zenyatta slumps against the wall, the weight of his body resting now solely on Genji to hold him up, and Genji basks in it, rubs their bodies together harder, slides against where he knows Zenyatta needs it the most, and listens to him moan.

He could go on like this forever, if not for the building need at the base of his cock –the kind of pressure and pleasure he’d lost for years before being comfortable with his body enough to experience it again, that he is sure is only possible to have with Zenyatta, and he basks in that feeling, lets it seep through his entire body slowly, drags it out as long as he’s capable.

It builds, it grows, expands and melts him from the inside, and Genji grows more frantic as it does, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Genji knows Zenyatta is similarly affected –he can feel it in the way he’s desperately matching each thrust of his hips, in the way he arches his back and tries to lure Genji even closer, in the way his voice box has stopped completing words and is just repeating Genji’s name over and over, broken only by static and white noise.

Zenyatta is so close, and so is he, and he can almost taste it on his tongue, dipped as deep as it can go inside Zenyatta’s mouth, tasting metal and silicon.

“Ah– Gen-j…i, g-Genji–”

“Z-Zenyatta, please–” breathless, choked, Genji kisses him and can’t stop doing so, trembling as he rubs himself harder against Zenyatta, their bodies moving together as one, frantic and desperate.

Their fingers twitch and clench around each other, the only secure anchor they have as the pleasure mounts inside them, sparkles of light flickering in the air surrounding them, a prelude to their crescendo, and Genji opens his eyes wide, feels the pleasure lick at his insides, burning like fire, and stares, and–

“ _Genji_ –”

Zenyatta peaks first –his forehead array dies, blue lights go _off_ and then light _explodes_ from within, bathing Genji’s sight in golden, expanding until it’s everywhere, eating away the world around them until there is nothing but warm, blinding light…

Genji sobs, Zenyatta’s name lost on his lips, and comes, shuddering and feeling the tangible proof of Zenyatta’s love wrap around him as six limbs sprout from the golden light and hold him closer.

The metal that is his skin becomes sensitive just like his old human skin was, and for a moment, a precious, infinite moment lost in time, Genji feels as if he’s fully human again.

He burns and tingles, pleasure cresting inside him in waves, and he comes so hard he feels tears in his eyes, and watches Zenyatta’s beautiful, otherworldly appearance as he touches the Iris through him, watches as Zenyatta comes down from his height, and the lights start to recede.

The hum around them abruptly falls into silence and they both slump down on the floor, boneless and limp, in a tired heap.

Genji rubs himself still against Zenyatta, the aftershocks of his climax sending more pleasure to his brain, and watches as Zenyatta arches up against him more, fingers so tightly wrapped in his own that he can feel the metal of his hands creaking under the pressure.

Sluggish, spent, Genji has enough presence of mind to stop kissing Zenyatta before the extra sensations force him to reboot, and watches as his lover closes his mouth, a trail of Genji’s saliva still trapped in the seam.

The sight is almost too much, and he shivers and shuffles them a bit, pressing his face against the crook of Zenyatta’s neck. Zenyatta attempts to free his hands, but Genji is not yet ready to let go, and so they stay like that, Genji on Zenyatta’s lap and holding him against the wall.

Genji breathes, pants, and it is only when he feels a constriction against the base of his throat that he finally lets go of Zenyatta’s left hand to paw at the floor until his shaky fingers find the edge of his mouth piece and he puts it on, instantly feeling its mechanics helping him stabilize his breathing.

He is glad he lasted this long, probably due to Zenyatta transcending, but he’s grateful he has the mask on now, and he takes a few deep breathes, not wanting to move yet.

“Genji, are you alright?”

“Hmmm,” he answers, too comfortable to focus.

Zenyatta chuckles, and his fingers come to caress Genji’s head. Genji feels satisfaction rekindle inside him as he notices Zenyatta’s hand tremble, aware that he brought him to a shivering mess, and wanting to do that again.

“Are you satisfied, my dear?”

“No,” he answers, and does not care if it comes out petulant or not. He is excused from thinking too hard, but he guesses the floor isn’t really comfortable for them to stay like that.

He is not tired –Transcendence is like a balm, so all he feels is indulgently sluggish, body thrumming pleasantly– but it would be a lie to say he is ready to go again this soon, even if he wants to.

He is, though, aware of the dampness of Zenyatta’s pants, drenched with lubricant from them both, and of the small shivers he can feel against his chassis. Zenyatta feels pleasure differently, and his body ruptures it down in smaller waves so he is not overloaded, and that means the aftershocks go on for a while, afterwards.

His pleasure extends further than a climax, leaving him overly sensitive and trembling and so beautiful.

When he found out, Genji remembers feeling like he’d been handed an extra early birthday gift, and he feels the same now, years after their first time.

He has been blessed more than once ever since meeting Zenyatta, and the list only keeps growing.

Genji’s hand is steady when he lifts it to caress Zenyatta’s face, and when he nuzzles his neck and pushes away, all Zenyatta does is hum before he follows, one hand against the wall to keep himself from stumbling, legs shaky as pleasure still travels through his body, sparkles of it making him weak.

If he times it right, he can make Zenyatta come at least once more before he’s ready to join in again.

He is still holding Zenyatta’s right hand in his own, so he brings it up to his mask and nuzzles its open palm, then tugs Zenyatta close again, and both of his hands pull on the hem of his pants until they slide off his sides and on the floor, then aids Zenyatta as he steps out of them.

His prosthetic cock is glistening with lubrication, slick and still erect, and there are tiny sparkles of blue light around its base that show it is still very much active and in use. Genji’s grin grows at the sight, hungry, but the mask hides it.

It does, however, not hide his intentions from Zenyatta, who stumbles, fumbles a bit with Genji’s honest attention and desire, and then attempts to reason with him, voice still shaky.

“You do remember, my dear, that Winston requires us to go to a meeting tomorrow morning, do you?”

“I find myself suddenly unable to retain short-term information,” Genji replies, and tugs Zenyatta towards the bed. “It might be a glitch of my matrix…”

“Oh, is that so?” Zenyatta smiles, laughter obvious in his tone, then he gasps when Genji’s hands caress the curve of his thighs, where the pistons slot into his sides. He still manages to tease him, just a bit breathlessly, “Maybe we should ask Doctor Ziegler to have a look at you, then–?”

Genji’s hand moves to Zenyatta’s cock, then lower, fingers sliding easily with all the excessive lubrication, and he finds the opening underneath ready for him, inviting and soft.

“You were saying?” he asks, and he does not need to take his mask off for Zenyatta to know he is smirking.

“… I… ah… maybe you’ll be fine, if…” Zenyatta’s thoughts scatter, Genji’s fingers rubbing at the folds of his opening, silicon warm and welcoming them in. “Oh, Genji–”

“Yes… I thought so”.

Zenyatta laughs again, pushes him down on the bed, and then slides on his lap, and Genji sighs, closes his eyes, and lets himself fall back on the mattress, focusing on the heavy weight of Zenyatta sitting on his lap, pressing against him now without anything between them.

Their dance resumes.


End file.
